


The color of desire

by arcsinx



Series: Not Your Usual Fairytale [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, DJ Otabek Altin, Explicit Language, M/M, Masturbation, Model Yuri Plisetsky, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-16 09:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcsinx/pseuds/arcsinx
Summary: He's the same model Otabek'd seen on that perfume add in New York. Long, milky white legs bent, cascade of straight blonde hair falling around it where he has his cheek propped on his knee and stares at the camera with a razor sharp look, green eyes cutting through him. There's something effortlessly raw and imposing in the way he does it, a look seemingly so natural to him though his delicate features would look better on a doll. He's breath-taking.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this other than I was thinking about this verse _again_ and thought Otabek would be a total pervert for Yuri before they met. Of course, the wank magazine story never gets old.

In Otabek Altin's dictionary, the word tiresome had one definition. And it was touring. 

He'd spent the last three months going from one country to another to play the same set to people whose enthusiasm varied. He couldn't stand listening to his own mixes anymore, which was something he had never thought would happen. All he wants to do is just fall on his bed, sleep and jerk off for the next week, which was exactly the time he'd booked to spend in Almaty with his family. Luckily his mother won't try and drag him to the mosque or wherever everyday to introduce him to any _respectable_ young girls. 

Otabek has to blink several times to pretend he wasn't about to fall asleep on his seat. It's way past midnight in Bangkok and the airport isn't filled with tourists and fans like it'd been in Amsterdam, where Otabek had had to wait one hour before security formed a ring around him. He'd still been showered in shouts and random people trying to get a piece of him when disembarking, posters and pictures of himself being thrown in his direction for him to sign. It was a nightmare. He hated tumults, even more so when he was the cause of it. Just imagining how many people had their lives affected by his arrival on the city that day made his temples throb with an upcoming headache. 

Some people liked that sort of attention. People like JJ Leroy. Otabek wasn't like that. He didn't mind giving one autograph or two, he truly cared about his fans. The problem was when they got too much into it. 

Scratching at his jaw, which he'd forgotten to shave and now only contributed to his exhausted, five o'clock shadow, Otabek took his backpack and decided to go after some coffee to at least keep him awake for the time it took to board his jet. 

He spots a bookstore on the way, with several souvenir stuffed animals at a shelf next to the cashier. Otabek comes to a halt in front of it and decides to take the elephant one for Aisha, his little sister. He ends up getting a Redbull from their fridge and the last Dan Brown book. 

The cashier, a smiling brunette woman, doesn't seem to recognize him but still eyes him funny. Otabek can't be looking good with a stubble, dark circles under his eyes and greasy hair. 

"With more four hundred baht you can take a key ring for free, sir," she says. 

Otabek startles, having spaced out while looking at the small, apple-shaped calendar poised on her table. "Sorry?" 

"A key ring," she explains, pointing at the metal rack beside her, where lots of colourful key rings dangle with phrases like 'I LOVE Bangkok'. "Your total was two thousands and six hundred baht. With four hundred more you have a free key ring. It's our promotion." 

"Hm," Otabek makes, and lets his gaze wander through the other options in the store. He doesn't really mind souvenir key rings but the woman seems very excited so he makes an effort. He takes an M&M and looks at the magazine racks displayed behind him. He blinks at the colours and almost takes the one where a Thai model's face is stamped on the cover.

####  **Phichit Chulanont: from Thailand to the world!**

, the angry bold letters say above the picture of a cute brunette winking at Otabek. 

Otabek's eyes, naturally, stray to another magazine at the top, where the cover contains a blonde model. A feeling of familiarity hits him, and he takes the magazine in hand to analyse it. 

He's the same model Otabek'd seen on that perfume add in New York. Long, milky white legs bent, cascade of straight blonde hair falling around it where he has his cheek propped on his knee and stares at the camera with a razor sharp look, green eyes cutting through him. There's something effortlessly raw and imposing in the way he does it, a look seemingly so natural to him though his delicate features would look better on a doll. He's breath-taking. 

And he's not wearing a piece of clothing that Otabek can see, the side of his hip blocked by a square of bold letters detailing more info on page 10 on how to get your hair to look effortlessly sexy with 5 tips given by- 

****

####  **YURI PLISETSKY, the Russian Fairy**

####  _Tells us everything about his career and life_

##### \+ POSTER

The cashier and a man with his child waiting in line behind him are patiently waiting for Otabek to stop leering at the magazine. When he unglues his eyes from the cover, Otabek clears his throat and sets the magazine on the counter next to the bag of M&M's. "This one too, please." 

The woman smiles and diligently packs his purchases. Otabek hands her the money and is halfway out of the store before realizing she's calling him back. 

"The key ring, sir!" She's saying, exasperated. 

"Oh," Otabek goes back, feeling a blush rising up to his cheeks, "right, sorry." 

He gets the first key ring he sees, the head of a roaring tiger. 

 

\- 

 

The magazine feels like it weighs a ton, but maybe that's just the weight it has on Otabek's conscience when he walks towards his jet with the plastic bag in hand. He's never been anxious to read a magazine before, but he nods at his pilot and Sabina, his flight attendant. She's four months pregnant and Otabek had categorically denied that she was present for the tour but there's only so much he can say to contradict a workaholic woman. 

"Mr Altin," she smiles. Sabina always greets him like that no matter how many times he'd told her not to. Physically, she reminds him a lot of Maya, his older sister, both have the same skin color and height, even the same nose and calm demeanour. "Last flight, hn?" Sabina teases once he has seated, opening a bottle of water and handing him a glass, "excited to get back to your family?" 

Otabek waits for her to stop pouring to sip from the glass. "Yes, you must be too." 

"Oh," Sabina says, and goes to shut the door closed with a heavy thunk and the turning of a lock, "you have no idea." 

They don't take long to take off after that. The gentle, ever-present sound of the engine almost has Otabek's sleepiness creeping back on him, but the memory of the magazine kept in the plastic bag has him fully awake. 

Sabina is sat two seats over, calmly reading from a book and sipping from a tea cup. She looks up when he stands. 

"Looking for something?" 

"Uh, the plastic bag I came with," Otabek looks around. 

"Here," Sabina gets it from the compartment. She extends it towards him, ever helpful, but frowns and looks down at it. Otabek's heart must have stopped. He doesn't know why he wants to be so seclusive with the magazine, it wasn't a Playboy, for god's sake. But Otabek was sure anyone who took one look at it and then at the probably guilty face Otabek would make would know for sure why he'd bought a fashion magazine he'd otherwise have no reason to touch. But Sabina only takes the Redbull can from the plastic bag, wet with condensation, "oh, should I put this in the fridge? I will be preparing dinner in a while." 

"Ah, sure, thanks," Otabek doesn't know if she can read his relieved face, but once she turns on her heels to open the fridge Otabek rolls the magazine and stashes it on the waistline of his jeans. When Sabina turns, he indicates the bathroom with a thumb, "uh, I will use the bathroom now." 

"That's fine. Should I knock if you take too long?" She jokes. 

Otabek has fallen asleep in the bathroom once amidst the tour. Sabina has turned it into a private joke of their own, even snickering a little behind her tea cup after retaking her seat. Otabek gives a strained chuckle and tries to ignore the way his heart has somersaulted in his chest. 

If he takes too long it won't be because he's fallen asleep. 

Before she can make any other comment, Otabek locks himself inside the bathroom and breathes out a relieved sigh. It was no better than a commercial flight's bathroom, but it had a bit more space between the sink and the toilet, which was way more comfortable too. The light turns on with a flick and Otabek sits on the closed toilet lid before guiltily opening the glossy magazine. 

He – Yuri – is still looking back at Otabek with the same strong look, and Otabek turns the first pages that are occupied only with adds. The index tells him Yuri Plisetsky's special interview and photoshoot begins on page 8 and Otabek forces himself to turns every page until there just to get a sense of normalcy. 

The interview's colour scheme is in white, gold and red. The first photo is of Yuri, dressed in, now Otabek sees, a pair of red lace panties. The scenario is built to look like a teenager's room, with a dressing table overflowing with ball perfumes and make-up powders. Yuri is sat at a red velvet stool poised in front of it, one knee bent and foot supported on it, toe nails painted blood red. He is bringing the speaker to a red ancient phone up to his ear, a finger curling its cable teasingly, staring right back at the camera. 

Otabek feels the hot coils of arousal uncurling on his lower belly. "Shit," he murmurs to himself, and spreads the pages wider. 

_Our interviewee arrives on time. He's come in leopard print slip ons and a fur coat. When I ask him whose design it was, Yuri Plisetsky looks away for a minute. He says he doesn't remember, and that anyway, it isn't important. I have to agree with him._

_If you've never heard of the Russian Fairy before (honestly, have you been living under a rock?), you've probably already realized Yuri Plisetsky can pull any clothes off. And I mean,_ really _. It is ironical then that we chose a photoshoot where he'd wear so very little._

_'I don't mind,' Yuri says with a shake of his head when I ask if the choice of clothing was a problem, 'I'm still not naked so I think my grandfather won't have much to complain about.' I laugh. Yuri says he hasn't felt uncomfortable in front of a camera since he was a boy, starting his modelling career._

_Q: Yes, you started very early on. How old were you?_

_YP: Seven... or eight, I don't remember well. It's a long story._

_Q: Why did you decide to take it up?_

_YP: I had always been very skinny when younger. They said if a breeze hit harder I would go with it. There were all sorts of nicknames which of course didn't make me happy. School wasn't my favourite place on earth, you can guess._

_Yuri doesn't seem to be open to talk about his early days on modelling, but he does jump to answer when I ask him about his rising fame on the catwalks._

_YP: It's funny. I never thought I would make it big. My goal was to provide for my grandfather and my cat. (He shows me the picture of Clawdia, his cat, on his phone. What a cutie!) But along the way people started asking for more and I didn't see a problem in denying them as long as the money kept coming. **It may sound superficial, but modelling is superficial**._ The last line is quoted and comes in bold letters and higher font before the next paragraph. 

Otabek turns the page, lost to the world outside. There are two new pictures of the photoshoot, each on a page. Yuri is sat at a windowsill on the first, legs stretched out and feet touching the opposite side of the wall. The camera caught the lateral view of it, the light from outside reflecting on his pale skin. Yuri's looking at the side to the camera, biting on the end of a finger provocatively. 

The other is of him spread out on a bed, and that is the one that has Otabek reluctantly palming at his crotch through his jeans. The camera caught him from up above, long, blond hair forming a halo around his head, where he's looking up at the camera under his eyelashes, lips parted slightly. His body is lithe and thin, but packed with lean muscles. His belly looks soft despite the faint line of his six pack, and he probably kept it so it wouldn't be too manly. His legs are folded together, only a peek of red visible that hints at his underwear. 

Otabek feels his blood flowing towards his dick and tries to keep concentrated enough to read the rest of the interview. 

_Q: Have you made friends inside the fashion world? According to your social media, you and Mila Babicheva are very close._

_YP: Oh, that b** (laughs). Yes, we met when I was fifteen for a photoshoot, she couldn't leave me alone since._

_Q: That sounds like a true recipe for friendship. Still about your social media, how is your relationship with your fans? You have a leading fanbase now. They call themselves Yuri's Angels._

_YP: Oh, yeah, that (rolls his eyes). I don't know where they came up with that name. They tag me all the time. **"I can only hope they do it for the healthy reasons."**_

_Q: Do you ever get stopped on your way in the streets? Someone asking for a selfie, an autograph?_

_YP: I try to keep a low profile because it's been happening a lot lately. I usually don't mind. I still haven't found a crazy fan though yet but when I do I don't think I'll have a problem telling them to shove off._

The interviewer makes more questions concerning Yuri's career, the last brands he'd signed with and his thoughts on it. Otabek lets his eyes wander over the page some more and settle on the span of his skin, his eyes and his parted lips on that second photo. He's been gradually hardening inside his jeans, mind already going to the texture of that pale skin, how it might feel under his hands, soft and supple but lean and strong, just like Otabek liked it. 

"Oh, fuck," Otabek shuts his eyes, letting his head hit the wall behind him with a thud. Minutes ago he'd felt so tired he'd almost fallen asleep in the airport but now sleeping is the farthest thing from his mind. What he can't stop thinking about though is the vision of Yuri's body spread on a bed, eyes outlined in black staring up at him. 

Otabek suspects Yuri wouldn't have to do anything to make him go to bed with him. He wouldn't even have to open his mouth. If he ever looked at Otabek like that Otabek would be putty in his hands. It sounds insensitive in the way Otabek tries not to be with his lovers, but this is pure lust speaking, just Otabek's dick getting excited at the idea of having that pale body around it, the tight enclosure of his heat, sheathed inside so deep to the point Otabek would feel _so good_. 

It's like fighting against a storm, something you can't control. Otabek unzips his jeans with one hand, still staring at Yuri's photo spread on his lap. He's almost fully hard, just a few pumps taking him to full erection. He feels hot in his own hands, most sensitive at the base where his knot was sure to sprout were he anywhere near someone like Yuri Plisetsky in his real life. 

But this isn't real life. This is Otabek Altin fantasizing about having sex with Yuri Plisetsky. Hot, steamy sex. Lots of times, preferably. Locked inside in a single room for days on end. Otabek'd done it before with other people, other models even, coincidentally. 

Otabek's not sure which position he would prefer though. Otabek likes foreplay. He would keep Yuri underneath him at first, would bite his neck, _yes_. Leave a mark there, would lick his mouth and taste him, everywhere. Would tweak his nipples, surely sensitive. And if he were in heat? 

Otabek's balls coil at his own stimulation. Precum leaks from his shaft and Otabek swirls his thumb on the head to spread it. The noises are obscene inside the tight space of the bathroom, his harsh breathing and the rhythmic pumps of his cock. It feels stifling inside, his skin beginning to perspire. 

Otabek glances down at the magazine once more. He's so close. He can almost feel it, just one look at the space between those pale thighs again... And those red panties. Otabek would take them off slowly, wet with Yuri's slick. Yuri's skin would pebble, and he would shiver beneath Otabek's hands, going slowly up his legs, cupping his knee, bringing it higher, higher... And Otabek would come closer, closer, right there. 

Yuri would whimper when Otabek entered him, would gasp, softly, simple, and just like that. He would be ready, so slick around him, he would claw those perfectly red nails on Otabek's back. 

Otabek can almost feel him there with him, cramped inside this same bathroom, breath hot on Otabek's ear. 

Otabek's hand simulates the heat of Yuri's walls around him, softly giving to his cock. He would look so good, spread open around it. 

Otabek manages to save the magazine from getting sprayed with his come, but only barely. It falls to the floor and Otabek curses under his breath, eye shut, still lost inside the world behind his eyelids. The world where he fucked Yuri Plisetsky, his cock, his ass, his smell everywhere around him. His gasps on Otabek's ears. 

Puffing, Otabek takes a minute until his breathing goes back to normal. 

"Oh, shit," he's made a mess of himself. He grabs the toilet paper and tries to wipe the come away. His shirt is a ruin. How can he go back outside with Sabina? 

He grunts and takes the shirt off, zipping his jacket all the way up over his bare chest. He feels a little ridiculous now, like he always does after doing this. Slowly, Otabek picks up the magazine from the floor. It had flipped to the next page, another one of Yuri's photos. This one had him standing with his back to the camera, looking over his shoulder. The red underwear clung perfectly to his ass cheeks and shit, Otabek should've seen this one earlier. Yuri is holding the stem of a red cherry, the fruit resting on the tip of his tongue where he has his mouth open. He's staring at the camera with green, doe eyes, perfectly innocent and still perfectly aware of the effect he has. 

Otabek turns the page back and almost laughs when he sees it. Some of his come had fallen on the page, right over Yuri's ass.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you might not have seen it but I [recreated Yuri's magazine cover!](https://notyourusualfairytale-au.tumblr.com/post/162103985660/yuris-infamous-magazine-cover-is-finally-done) It's in my [tumblr](notyourusualfairytale-au.tumblr.com). I've been doing lots of mini fics as well, you can find them by looking up the tag 'mini fics' in the blog.

There are only a few reporters waiting for Otabek's arrival at Almaty's international airport. They don't snap pictures of him without his consent, which he is grateful for since he can't be looking nice, and only run after him asking a couple questions that are easily answered with short words and nods of his head. 

Otabek has donned a baseball cap on his head and had expected it would be enough to ward any attention off but now has no such illusion. Thankfully the people that had already recognized him given the reporters, steer away and only watch him pull on his stroller bag. 

He can already spot Maya and Rasul, her boyfriend - fiancé, to be exact, but Otabek still hadn't given them his blessing entirely. She smiles brightly when her eyes settle on him, raising one hand in a wave. 

"Brother," she calls, and wraps her arms firmly around him when he approaches. She smells like wild flowers and tangerine, and Otabek gives a small smile at the memories that resurface with it, of childhood and love. He hugs her back and waits until she steps back to nod in Rasul's direction and shake his hand. 

"We're so glad you are here. Did you have a safe flight?" 

Otabek nods and they walk towards the airport's exit. Another journalist runs up alongside them and Otabek gives him his answers and asks if he wouldn't mind excusing them. 

"Wow," Maya says from where she's scurried out of proximity. 

"Yeah," Otabek sighs, and heaves his bag into the car's trunk, "sometimes you gotta be the awful person to tell them to stop." 

Rasul has gone to sit behind the wheel and Maya takes one look over her shoulder at the journalist before shrugging. Otabek grins and throws an arm around her shoulders as they turn to get in the car. "So, how is mom? Aisha? Dad?" 

"They're good," Maya answers in her tiny voice, and gets in the passenger's seat while Otabek takes the backseat. "She's freaking out," she rolls her eyes and turns on her seat to tell Otabek while Rasul pulls off. 

The air in Almaty is light but warm, exactly as Otabek remembered it. He looks out the window at the familiar landscapes and the mountains looming in the background. He'd missed home _so much_. 

"She woke at five in the morning to start cleaning the house," Maya continues, "she was preparing lunch when we left. I think she's cooked for over twenty people." 

Otabek chuckles and looks away. His mother and her ways. He misses her too, a lot. So much that even her habits of overanalysing seem endearing. 

They get stuck in traffic for a while but it dissolves rather quickly. Maya makes more questions regarding his tour and Otabek makes an effort to answer honestly. He'd gotten some sleep in the jet but it's not the same as sleeping on his own bed. He's not cranky, not yet, but lack of sleep has always had a bad effect on him. 

"I don't think I can live away from Almaty," he comments, when they're almost getting home. 

Maya turns to him. "What do you mean?" 

He knows that for the time he spends away it's almost as if he did live abroad. But Otabek doesn't think he can live anywhere else in the future. Something in his soul is only peaceful when he's here. 

Maya is still watching him questioningly. He shrugs. "I mean, I might start to look up houses." 

Maya's eyes brim. "Seriously? Oh, Beka, wait until mom hears that." 

Otabek laughs and looks out the window some more. "It's true. I know I never settle down-" 

"Oh, hush, don't start with that. It will be good if you stay here, for real," Maya gives him such earnest eyes that Otabek agrees with her. She then quirks a small grin in his direction, and reaches back to squeeze his knee. "You'll have to talk to your spouse, you know. They will have to agree to live here with you. Right?" 

Otabek shrugs, "that's for the future." 

"The future, hn?" Maya teases. She looks out the windshield but Otabek knows she hasn't taken her mind off of him. "What about that model?" 

"Oh," Otabek murmurs, and brings the cap further down his eyes. It mustn't hide the way he blushes though. "That was-" he clears his throat, "anyway, don't mind that." 

Maya gives him a shit-eating grin and then shakes her head. "Oh, Beka, if only mom knew what you get up to. She must still think that you are a virgin," she snickers. "But right, as you said, for the future." 

 

\- 

 

When Maya opens the door there's only a blur that comes running and shrieking up to Otabek, who catches his small sister in his arms and flings her up in the air. Aisha squeals and grabs onto his neck, flashing him her gap-toothed smile. 

"Beka, Beka, Beka, you're here!" Aisha kicks her legs. 

"I am," Otabek sets her on the floor, groaning at her weight, "you've gotten heavier, little girl." 

Aisha pouts exaggeratedly, but whines and clamps her arms around his legs. "Beka, I missed you so much." 

"Missed you too," Otabek kneels to hug her. 

"What did you bring me? Did you find the make-up I talked about? I sent you the picture," Aisha quickly steps back to ask. 

"Aisha, not now, Beka is tired," Maya is saying, but the rest of Otabek's family has now emerged to greet him. He spends at least ten minutes talking to everyone. His mother walks out of the kitchen, making a scandal and surging up to Otabek. 

"My son, look at you," she says, squeezing his face between her hands, "So beautiful," Damira hugs him. Otabek kisses the top of her head, retributing the embrace as best as he can. She feels tiny in comparison to him, and hugs his ribcage like she's planning to suffocate him. "How have you been?" She asks, looking up at him and inspecting his face, "Oh, dear, look at this beard!" 

"It's not a beard, mom," Otabek scratches his jaw self-consciously. It's really not, just some stubble. 

Damira eyes him critically. "Well, you'll shave that before coming to the table either way," she suggests (or commands) with a pat to his cheek. "You must be starving," she says, accompanying him down to his old bedroom while he takes his baggage there, "Going to all of those weird places. You didn't drink from their water, did you?" 

"No, mom," Otabek grins. From the looks of it his mother was still the same. He settles his baggage on top of his bed and takes a look around. The room is pretty much the same as it was before he left. His agent had been nagging him about getting a place somewhere else, preferably New York or London because his record company had better stations there but Otabek had always been a mama's boy. Not to mention he'd meant it when saying he had plans for staying in Almaty permanently. 

"Well, I'll have lunch settled in a while. You can shower and change," she advises, running her gaze down his clothes in mild disapproval. 

Otabek nods, moving to open his bag. "Don't, don't do that, honey," his mother waves him away, "There are clean clothes in the bathroom, I've separated them for you. Leave those be, I'll sort your things and put them back in place in later. My son," she cups his cheeks again, revelling in the quick smile Otabek shoots her, "Finally back!" Damira shrieks, and nudges him towards the bathroom. 

Otabek takes a look at his reflection in the mirror and lets out the breath he'd been holding in. The whirlwind reception left him a bit lost, but at the sight of the familiar surroundings and the sudden quietness left by his mother's absence he got his bearings back together. Damn, he really did need a proper shave. 

Otabek takes his time taking his clothes off, finding his razor in the cabinet and shaving as perfectly as he can. He can hear the soft sound of voices through the walls, his family setting the table and talking. In the shower he scrubs his body as thoroughly as he can, splashing his face with the cold water and washing his hair with the remains of a shampoo that he isn't sure hasn't expired. 

True to her word her mother had left a clean set of clothes in the bathroom for him, as well as a fluffy towel. Otabek grimaces at the fit of the shirt, now too tight on his biceps and chest. His mother was sure to remark on that, which was inevitable. 

Stepping out of the bathroom Otabek heads to his baggage. He usually brought all sort of souvenirs for his relatives from all over the world, though this time he hadn't brought as many since he was touring and had pretty close to no spare time for anything. He gets the Chinese fan he'd gotten for his mother and digs around until finding the plastic bag containing the plushie from Bangkok for Aisha. _The_ magazine ends up rolling out of it and hitting the floor with a soft thud. 

Otabek guiltily retrieves and feels a bit stupid afterwards. He's in his own room, he's an adult. He never did have a stash of magazines under his bed during his teenage years like most of his friends had, so he is unfamiliar with the feeling of hiding something from his family. It's not like it isn't natural. Right? 

Either way, Otabek sits on his mattress and flicks the pages to the last bit of Yuri's interview that he hadn't been able to read in the jet. 

The last page depicts Yuri standing, blonde hair bunched up in both his hands as he stares at the camera under his eyelashes. His neck looks perfectly biteable, the line of his shoulders and collarbone jutting out invitingly. 

_Q: You seem to be a pet lover, specially a cat lover, am I right? There are several pictures of your cat in your social accounts. Can you tell us a bit about it?_

_YP: Yes, that's my cat, Clawdia. I got her on my fourteenth birthday, a gift from my neighbor. She ate my make-up once. She's a menace._

_Q: Now, there have been some rumours regarding your involvement with someone in the music scene. What can you tell us about it? Do you think is there any room for a romantic relationship in the future?_

_YP: Uh, I don't know (he laughs). We'll wait and see, I guess._

_The time for our interview runs out and Yuri thanks us for the opportunity. He shakes my hand before going and leaves behind the impression of a determined young man. By the way, he looks really cute when he blushes._

Otabek is frowning down at the magazine when reading the last words. Was Yuri dating someone? 

"Beka," it's Aisha calling. 

Otabek shoves half of the magazine under his baggage and looks up at his little sister. She comes jumping into his room to sit on his knee, retrieving the plushie from the mattress and holding it up excitedly. 

"So cute! Is this for me?" 

"Uh, sure," Otabek clears his mind. "I got it yesterday. Do you know where it is from?" 

Aisha gives him the tongue, holding the plushie closer to her and jumping from his lap. "Thailand. You were in Thailand yesterday, dummy. I saw it on the internet." 

Otabek ruffles her hair. "Me and mom need to have a talk about you and your internet." 

Aisha shrieks and escapes him. "Oh, mom is calling for lunch." 

Otabek nods. "Right, let's go then." 

Damira has saved him a place beside her, of course. She sets the food on his plate and can't stop giving him those earnest smiles. The family is kept busy drinking, eating and asking all sorts of questions about his travelling. Otabek answers as well as he can, glad that he's back. 

"This shirt shrinked during the wash, I see," Damira comments, pulling on the sleeve of the shirt Otabek's wearing. She gives him a mildly disapproval look. "What have you been doing, my son?" 

"Mom, Beka's just working out," Maya shrugs in to say in his behalf. "Leave him be," she winks at Otabek. 

Damira still hasn't bought it though, "Hn, I don't like it. You're beautiful without any of that, dear." 

Otabek grins uncomfortably, "Thanks, mom." 

Maya snickers behind her hand. Otabek elbows her and seizes the opportunity to finally talk to his sister when his mother gets up to find something to show him. 

"And the wedding?" He asks, glancing at Rasul, sat across from them and diligently eating his lunch. 

"Ah, we'll be deciding the date in a while. I was thinking summer but we'll see," Maya shrugs. "You will manage, won't you?" 

Otabek nods. He can't imagine himself missing his sister's wedding. "I'll have to think of a nice gift." 

Maya huffs and shoves him away playfully. "Stop that, you know I won't accept anything too costly." 

Otabek grins her way, "So I'll just have to get you something so expensive you'll have no use for and will have to sell it." 

Maya rolls her eyes. "Is that your mighty plan?" 

Otabek opens his mouth to banter some more but his mother comes back to the dining room, an expression on her face that Otabek knows since childhood to mean trouble. And it was headed his way, with the way she was glaring at him until arriving at the end of the table, poising an arm over the back of her vacant chair and watching Otabek as though already expecting him to be apologizing. 

"Otabek," she says in a clipped tone. The talk on the table dies down as the rest of his relatives turn to listen. She glances at Aisha and motions for her to leave the table. "This isn't for your ears," Damira says, and once Aisha scurries away, returns her cold gaze to Otabek, who is frantically searching inside his mind for whatever he could have done wrong this time. 

Shit. He hadn't taken the wet towel from the bathroom. 

"Would you care to explain to your poor mama," Damira squints at him, dragging the words. His mother would've made a terrific investigator, "Why I found a magazine with a naked blonde on your bed?" 

Maya gasps beside him, bringing a hand to her gaping mouth, mirthful eyes peeking at him. Her fiancé blinks owlishly at him while the rest of the table fixates an accusing gaze on his face. Otabek's blood has run cold so fast he's become paralyzed, unable to draw a single expression, be it shock or surprise. His mouth has run dry and he's fighting to regain his senses and actually work out something to say. But he can't. The worst person has found the worst piece of evidence of his sexual affairs. 

"You're an intelligent boy," his mother continues. "So you would know how important it is to keep your chastity until your marriage. Which is _sacred_ ," she emphasizes the last part. 

Otabek is stuck in place, only his eyes seeming to work. He finds his father's gaze and it is so shameful. His father looks away and clears his throat, a definite tinge to his cheeks. "Damira," his father says in his defence, "Leave the boy, this is hardly the place to be talking about this. He's an adult now." 

"Leave it? How do you expect me to leave it? If he's cast his eyes on the naked form of others, if it's excited him-" 

"It's not mine," Otabek's brain chooses the worst moment to work, and so does his mouth. Damira pauses to give him an unforgiving look, and gods, why had he said that? His flat words fall so pathetic on the table. It has no intonation at all, which is as good as admitting that he's lying and yes, he's the owner of Yuri Plisetsky's sexy magazine. Maya winces beside him. 

"Not yours?" Damira questions, cocking her hip and resting a fist on it. Otabek hates that pose, it's the one she'd make before starting to scream. "It had sperm on it!" 

Otabek's relatives snicker, specially his younger cousins. His aunts gasp and become scarlet, avoiding looking his way but definitely holding back a smile. His father grimaces. "Well," his father says, "Technically it's not sex he's engaged into, so-" 

"At this rate he might as well already had," Damira cuts in, switching her sharp gaze to Otabek accusingly, "We know he likes it enough to have-," she pauses, "fulfilled his excitement, that is-" 

"Mom," Maya intervenes, flushing furiously as she massages her temples, "I think we all know how it works. Beka is a completely normal young man. Please, sit down." 

"A skinny, foreign omega," Damira goes on, Maya's words having fallen on deaf ears, "Naked, completely naked, exposing his body for the world to see. Such provocative positions, spreading like a- like a prostitute," she spits the last word. 

"It was a fashion magazine, mom," Otabek corrects, feeling somehow protective in Yuri's behalf. "It was supposed to be provocative-" 

"Vulgar, it was vulgar!" His mother speaks up. "I know things, I read things, I see them. They say you like blonde models," she accuses with a finger pointed in his direction, "On the internet." 

Otabek can't avoid exchanging a wary look with Maya. He didn't know his mother had access to what was said about him in the internet. If she had read the headlines to those tabloids Otabek was _fucked_. Not that he minded the he wasn't a virgin, _at all_ , but his mother cared about those stuff and he didn't want to disappoint her. 

Otabek doesn't know what to say to that, his heart still racing inside his chest. Thankfully his father clears his throat, and the sound on the table dies down to scraps on plates. "Well, fun as it may be to listen to our son's _supposed_ sexual activities, Damira," he turns to his wife with a weak smile, "I think everyone has already finished eating. So they can all help clearing the table." 

 

\- 

 

"It's because they're saying you're dating," Aisha informs him, crossing her legs over his bed, "That pretty model." 

Otabek really doesn't want to have that kind of conversation with his little sister. He's beginning to wonder if he should ever indulge in casual sex again if it's going to hit the news and probably come to his little sister's knowledge. He makes a speculative sound in the back of his throat and hands her the make-up she'd asked him for. 

She yelps and jumps on the bed. "Thanks, Beka! Now I'll look like a fairy," she shrieks, shoving the case to her face, "Like Yuri." 

"What?" Otabek pauses. 

"Like Yuri Plisetsky, the Fairy of Russia," she jumps from his bed and goes running back to the living room. 

Otabek sighs, dropping on his bed and staring at the ceiling. He gets up in a flash when remembering the magazine and starts to fretfully look for it. 

A bad feeling starts increasing inside his chest when he realizes he can't find it anywhere. He huffs, standing at the centre of the room and looking around. It's useless, he can't find it. He's been so stupid. 

Now that the rest of the family has returned to their houses however, Otabek pads to his mother's bedroom, where he can see her standing and arranging some clothes inside her wardrobe from a crack on the door. Just to make this very clear, Otabek wouldn't be doing this unless he really, really wanted to read the rest of the interview and see Yuri's photos again. 

"Mom?" He asks, knocking gently on the door. 

She turns on her heels and immediately pouts once spotting him, switching back to her wardrobe and ignoring him. 

"Mom, can I come in?" He tries again, softer. 

Damira gives a put-upon sigh, but nods her head. Otabek steps in gingerly, pocketing his hands and moving to stand beside her. He wants to come clean with her, to avoid situations like the one that had happened today, which was arguably the most embarrassing thing Otabek has ever gone through. "If you want to ask me anything," he says, "You can do it. Okay? You can do it now." 

Damira doesn't turn to appraise him, but her façade drops to a more dignified one. She knows it, of course she does. Otabek could've fooled himself for a little longer but since she'd said she read things about him in the internet, he was done for. 

"Mom, do you have anything to ask me?" Otabek pushes again. 

But Damira shakes her head, and he understands in that moment that she doesn't want to hear him say it. She doesn't want to ask it because she knows the answer, and not asking seems somehow better. 

Otabek nods. "Will you tell me where you hid my magazine then?" He tries, softly, a hand to her shoulder and a low voice like he'd read somewhere improved his chances of calming people down. It probably only worked for omegas though, because his mother, mollified and shaken a second ago, bats his hand away and turns to him with furious eyes. 

"That slut's magazine? I threw it away!" 

"What?!" Otabek panics. 

"Yes," Damira says, raising her chin and getting the laundry basket from the floor. 

"It was mine," Otabek begs, following her around the house to the washing area. 

"It was trash," Damira clipped. "There's no place for images like that under my roof." 

"Well, this won't be my roof in a short while," Otabek retorts. He's just mad that she's thrown his magazine away, he hadn't intended to hurt her, he barely knows why he said that in the first place when he wasn't, in fact, telling the truth. He had plans for the future, but nothing guaranteed. 

Damira gasps dramatically, dropping the basket to the floor. "No!" She shrieks, both hands to her heart while staring at Otabek with huge eyes. 

"Mom, wait, that's not-" 

"You can't leave- when- Your poor mama, how can you do this? No, no, you're too young. How would you fend for yourself? Who will cook? Who will wash your clothes and make your eggs sunny side up the way you like? You can't-" she splutters, halting and lifting a finger, "You won't go. No. I forbid you." 

Otabek sighs, carding his finger through the top of his head. "Mom, calm down. I didn't mean that," he explains as he easily as he can, open palms up, "But I was talking to Maya and I think it's time I find a place for myself. I won't be there much, because you know," he shrugs. 

"You have a commitment to this family. You'll never see us again if you live in America, I had to drag you here today-" 

"Mom, that's not true," Otabek explains tiredly, "And if I leave I won't be leaving for America. I won't be leaving Almaty." 

Damira watches him silently, dropping a hand from her chest but still giving him suspicious eyes. She's clearly surprised, but in a good way. "Oh," she makes, and crosses her arms, trying to maintain her authority. "That's good, because I wouldn't allow you to go either way. So you better stay here." 

Otabek nods. Damira taps a finger against her arm and looks away, bending to retrieve the clothes from the floor. Otabek helps her, handing them back to her and holding out his arms when she glances at him searchingly. 

Damira hugs him obligingly, still muttering against his chest. "You stubborn boy. They were right. Our children leave us. First Maya, and now you. Aisha will be packing tomorrow too, who knows." 

Otabek laughs, kissing the top of her head and squeezing her closer. 

He takes some time to sleep that day, mostly because he can't still get over the mortification of what had happened at the table earlier. Now his whole family knew he jerked off to dirty magazines. Not that he did, because Yuri's magazines weren't dirty, but the way his mother had talked about it Otabek might as well have been batting it to a porn magazine, if such a thing even existed. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and for a fleeting moment thinks of Yuri. Otabek knows a lot of famous people, he's met them everywhere, at his shows backstage, at awards, promotional events, charity balls and movie premieres. So there's still a slight chance that he will meet Yuri some time, some day. Maybe. If he'll be dating someone until then, Otabek doesn't know. Maybe they'll both be already married for god's sake, and Otabek will glance at Yuri out of the blue and find it funny that he once fantasized about him. For some reason he feels nauseous at the thought though. Of meeting Yuri in another reality, where Yuri wouldn't find him interesting and would already be happy with someone else by his side. From what he'd read on the magazine, Yuri was already dating another musician even. Damnit. 

Great, now he was a sentimental fool. Otabek groans and drags his pillow down his face. Otabek didn't even know him! Yuri might as well be a terrible person, as terrible as everyone seems to hint at, that kind of insufferable bastards that make Otabek cringe and keep his distance. He shouldn't be worrying about potentially meeting Yuri and engaging in wild, steamy sex with him. Right? Come on, it's not as if this is a fairytale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending came out more sentimental than I wanted to but I think it suits the fic since the bulk of the story starts from now on. Also, I'll rename this fic later because this title is kind of lame. Cheers!


End file.
